


No Rivers and No Lakes

by drekadair



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage, Maybe A Little Plot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, and only a little porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-21 22:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17651261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drekadair/pseuds/drekadair
Summary: Lucifer and Chloe must go undercover at a high-class S & M sex club, and to ensure they don't blow their cover, they need to blend in. Thank the Devil there's all this rope lying around...Post 3x24, at some nonspecific time in the future when Chloe knows but isn't quite over it yet.





	No Rivers and No Lakes

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been to a club like this. Is my setting realistic? Probably not. I _have_ tied rope like this. Are my knots realistic? Yes, yes they are. If you try it for yourself, please communicate with your partner and be safe!
> 
> Title taken from Florence and the Machine's "Seven Devils."

 “Relax, Detective,” Lucifer purred in Chloe's ear, as she pulled uselessly at the straps that bound her body. “It's supposed to fit like that.”

 “Like what?” Chloe snapped. “Like it's about to fall off me?”

 “Precisely,” Lucifer said, and laughed in a way that made her want to punch him in the face.

The outfit, borrowed from one of Lux's dancers, felt like it was at least a size too small for her, though Lucifer insisted he'd judged her proportions exactly. It was nothing more than a series of black straps strategically wrapped around her body and was easily the most revealing thing she's ever worn, though compared to some of the women around her she felt almost overdressed. The darkly glamorous crowd that filled the club called Sin was composed mostly of men in expensive suits and women in... well, practically nothing. She and Lucifer fit right in—which was the point.

“It's a high-class sex club,” Lucifer had been delighted to explain, when their investigation pointed them toward Sin. “S & M, bondage, that sort of thing, but very tasteful. Less latex, more Armani.”

“Well, we need to be there tonight,” Chloe said. “It sounds like that's where our guy's going to make the exchange.”

“I'd be pleased to go undercover,” Lucifer had offered, sounding genuinely pleased. 

But the thought of sending Lucifer alone into a sex club made Chloe's blood run cold. “Not a chance,” she said. Considering his attention span, he'd be surrounded by half a dozen women within five minutes. “I'll go.” 

At this, both Dan and Lucifer had protested. 

“I'm afraid as a single woman you'll be making yourself a target,” Lucifer said, winning out over Dan. “No—nothing so unpleasant as you're imagining, Detective. Only that you'll spend all of your time repelling unwanted advances and none of your time actually detecting. And since they wouldn't let Douche here through the door, obviously I will accompany you.” 

Which was how Chloe wound up wearing nothing but a handful of black straps and a pair of flats—she had drawn the line at the ridiculously tall and delicate heels Lucifer had produced for her, on the grounds that she would break both her ankles the instant she had to chase a bad guy. Oh, and of course, a collar. 

“The collar or the shoes,” Lucifer had said. “Or both. But not neither. You want to sell this, don't you? Those flats will look out of place, but the collar should make up for it. Unless you'd rather accept my offer...?” 

When Chloe had balked at going into a S & M club dressed as a bondage babe, Lucifer had suggested she go as the dominatrix, and he as her sub. She honestly hadn't been able to tell which scenario excited him more. 

“No,” she said reluctantly. “You're right, I'll wear the collar. If most of the women there are going to be subs, me going as a dom isn't going to help us blend.” 

It was a very tasteful collar, about an inch wide and made of buttery soft leather. There was a random pattern of delicate gold studs scattered across the black surface, and it was beautiful enough to be mistaken for jewelry—except for the matching leash stretching between her neck and Lucifer's wrist. The collar made a kind of sense, but Chloe was still a little unclear on how Lucifer had talked her into the leash. 

They had spent the last hour drifting slowly through the crowded club, trying to spot their suspect. The building, though luxuriously decorated, had an awkward T-shaped interior, with the bar wedged into one branch of the T and a handful of small private rooms in the other. Finding a single man in the confusion of corner's wouldn't be easy, especially since he could blend in with all the other single men. In Chloe's experience, lone men were never in short supply at a club, but Sin seemed to have an unusually skewed sex ratio. Most of the women either moved in small, tight groups, or, like Chloe, were clearly attached to a male escort. She had never seen Lucifer receive so little female attention, and she would have found it amusing if half a dozen men hadn't approached them—or rather, approached _Lucifer_ —and asked to touch her, tie her up, or, in one case, whip her. 

He had scolded her for threatening the first one. “We're in a sex club, Detective. That sort of thing is expected. None of these other women would be here if she weren't hoping for precisely such a proposition.” 

“He could at least have asked _me!_ Who does he think you are, my _owner?_ ” 

“I _am_ holding your leash, Detective. There's no need to glare at me like that! Just let me handle the next one, _hmm?_ ” 

He did handle the next one, and all the ones after. His rebuffs were light and humorously lewd, but with each one Chloe could sense his temper slipping a little more. To her horror, the collar and leash seemed to make her hypersensitive to his presence and mood. She was acutely aware of his body, the restless gestures of his hands, the slight frown gathered between his brows. All of these things vibrated down the thin length of leather that stretched between them, until she began to feel uncomfortably like an antennae tuned to a single tall, handsome station. As his replies became increasingly brusque, she realized he was actually feeling protective of her, and she almost laughed aloud. Of all the times for Lucifer's erratic chivalry to show itself—! 

Perhaps the leash worked both ways, because Lucifer gave her a suspicious look, even though she hadn't made a sound. 

“This isn't working,” she said quickly, to cover the moment. “Either we missed him in the crowd or he's not here yet.” 

“The latter, I think,” Lucifer said. “We should find somewhere strategic to await his arrival.” 

Chloe scanned the club, looking for options. Her usual tactic would be to loiter at the bar and pretend to drink something, but the awkward layout meant the bar had poor sight lines to the rest of the club, making it too easy to miss their suspect if it turned out he was already here. There were tables and booths around the perimeter of the main area, but a raised platform in the center—currently dominated by a floor show with an naked woman being flogged by a man in a tuxedo—blocked the view across the room. Again, too easy to miss their suspect. 

“What about up there?” she said, pointing. 

A mezzanine wrapped around the base of the T-shaped room. From it they would be able to see the entire main room, plus keep an eye on the entrances to the bar and the back rooms. 

“Excellent idea,” Lucifer said, and led her across the club. Chloe tried to pretend she wasn't fascinated by the way the collar shifted against her throat as the leash grew taut and then slack with each step. She promised herself she would take it off as soon as they reached the upper level. 

But the mezzanine was already occupied. A handful of people loitered in the open space, around which were scattered wooden and metal frames, with chains dangling from the exposed rafters. One man was tying a woman to a X-shaped frame, her arms and legs spread wide, her body entirely bare. Another woman, wearing only a scrap of a thong, lay on the floor, cocooned in an intricate wrapping of white rope that stood out vividly against her dark skin. As Chloe watched, her partner hooked one of the chains through a loop at the small of her back and hoisted her off the floor so that she dangled, swinging slightly back and forth. The area had obviously been set aside for practicing bondage. 

“Oh my,” Lucifer said, sounding delighted. “Detective, you picked out the best corner of the club. Why, this almost reminds me of home.” 

A few months ago, Chloe would have brushed that aside as a fairly minor piece of Lucifer weirdness. Now that she knew... she still had to brush it aside. She couldn't afford to freak out right now. 

Almost immediately a middle-aged man, good-looking in a sandy, unfinished sort of way, approached them. 

“Hi,” he said—to Lucifer, of course. “Your partner is absolutely stunning. I'd love the chance to tie her up if you—” 

“No,” Lucifer said sharply. “I do not. The only person tying her up this evening is me. Come along, Det—darling.” 

He tucked a hand under her elbow and practically dragged her across the mezzanine. They fetched up against the railing, in an open space without any bondage practitioners nearby. 

“The insufferable cheek,” he muttered. “As if I would hand you around like a party favor—” 

Ignoring him, Chloe gazed out over the club, noting that the view from the mezzanine was just as good as she'd hoped, but a glance over her shoulder wasn't as encouraging. There was _yet_ _another_ man eyeing her, and she was afraid Lucifer's unpredictable temper wouldn't survive another proposition. 

“Why don't you—ah—tie me up.” 

Lucifer turned sharply toward her. “I'm sorry,” he said, looking genuinely puzzled. “Could you repeat that? I didn't hear you properly.” 

“You heard me just fine,” Chloe said, wondering if she'd just lost her mind. “This is the right spot to keep an eye out for our guy, but we're attracting too much attention just standing here. We need to—um—blend.” 

He stared at her in open astonishment. “Why, Detective, you never cease to amaze me.” 

“I'm flattered,” she said dryly. “It'll have to be something simple, something I can get out of fast if our suspect shows up.” When Lucifer continued to only stare at her, she added impatiently, “I assume you know how—?” 

Lucifer laughed. “Oh, _do_ I! Here, take this, and don't move a muscle. I'll be right back.” 

Holding the end of her own leash, Chloe waited with her elbows on the railing and her eyes scanning the floor below, trying not to think about what she had just gotten herself into. She failed, miserably. She had just offered to get tied up by Lucifer. Who was, very platonically, her partner and her friend. And also, very non-platonically, an incredibly beautiful and sexy man. Who was not a man at all, but actually an angel—a fallen angel, to be precise. The Devil. The _actual_ Devil. Someone who called a place with racks and chains and people being tortured “home.” Someone who also called snorting piles of cocaine and hosting an orgy just another Tuesday. And _also_ someone who regularly risked his life for her and always, _always_ had her back. Someone who, if she was honest with herself, she was just possibly in love with. And she had just suggested he perform a kinky, sexual act with her. 

She hid her head in her hands and groaned. 

“Not regretting your decision, I hope?” Lucifer said, reappearing at her elbow. He brandished a thick bundle of crimson rope and a pair of blunt-tipped scissors at her. “No take-backsies.” 

“No regrets,” Chloe said, and if Lucifer spotted the lie he didn't call her on it. “Where do you want me?” 

“Do you want the short answer or the long answer?” Lucifer murmured, and then his hand was on her waist. 

It should have been a neutral spot. They'd been working together long enough to no longer be shy about the occasional touch—a bumped hip here, a brushed shoulder there. They'd danced together, even kissed. Yet their emotional relationship had eclipsed their physical one and somehow it had all combined to make her take him for granted, like someone who handled dynamite for a living. But when his fingers brushed over her skin she felt fire blossom inside her. 

He drew her away from the railing, not touching her at all except for the light pressure of his hand against her side. When she was a few feet back he stood behind her and murmured into her ear, “Do you still have a good view of the floor?” 

His breath stirred her hair and she had to swallow hard before answering. “Yes.” Her voice sounded perfectly normal. 

Lucifer's other hand brushed against the other side of her waist and they slid together up her back and lifted her arms over her head, bending her elbows, and bringing her wrists to rest against the crown of her head, all in one smooth, gentle motion. She stared down at the floor show and tried to keep her breathing steady. 

For a moment he stepped away, and then he was back, suddenly, his arms reaching around her from behind in an embrace. Rope slid over her skin as he slowly wrapped a double length of it once, twice, around her ribs, just below her breasts. His fingers played against the small of her back as he did... something... to the rope, adjusting the fit, tying a knot, she didn't know. All she knew what that her strap dress suddenly didn't seem to have any straps at all, that everywhere he touched her seemed to be bare skin, that if he'd slid his hands _just a little higher_ he could have— 

She shut down that line of thought. Hard. 

But then his arms were wrapping around her again, this time drawing the rope just above her breasts. He stood so close that she could feel the heat of his body radiating through his suit and she thought surely, _surely_ he would close that tiny distance and press himself against her back—except he didn't. His only touch was his fingers, trailing so lightly across her chest they raised goosebumps. And then it occurred to her that _she_ could close the distance, and press herself against _him_ — 

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. 

“Are you alright, Detective?” 

This time, his breath ruffled the downy hair at the nape of her neck. She repressed a shiver. “I'm fine,” she said, and again her voice sounded perfectly normal. 

“ _Hmm_ ,” he said, and she was struck then by how quiet he was. There was none of his usual chatter, no lewd innuendos. But he was like that, sometimes, becoming deeply focused on his work. She pictured him standing close behind her, tall and slim and dark, his beautiful face bent intently over her as he twisted the rope into knots with his long, clever fingers— 

This wasn't working. 

She was about to say so when he stepped in front of her, sliding the rope over her left shoulder. And she saw that he _did_ have that intent look on his face, his dark eyes flicking up once to hers and then dropping down again to his task. She expected his gaze to hold desire, and it did, but it also held an intensity and a tenderness that left her breathless, literally breathless, and she breathed in hard, ragged gasps as he drew the rope down between her breasts and looped it under the band around her ribs. She no longer cared if he knew how he was affecting her, she _wanted_ him to know, she wanted him to lift up his head kiss her— 

And then he was gone again, stepping around her and taking the tail of the rope with him, back over her right shoulder. She stared out over the club, the chaotic swirl of people moving below her, picking out individuals but not really seeing them. The ropes were coming alive around her, no longer a couple loops of fiber wrapped around her body but a constricting net Lucifer was trapping her inside. Except she didn't feel trapped. She didn't feel trapped by Lucifer, or frightened by him, she felt— 

“Stop,” she said. “Lucifer, stop.” 

His hands stilled between her shoulder blades. “Chloe?” 

“He's here, I see him. Quick! Get this thing off of me—” 

By the time they ran down their suspect, hauled him back to the station, and finished questioning him, the moment had passed. The fire was gone, Chloe told herself. She told herself things were back to normal—or as normal as things could be, when your partner was the Devil himself. And she told herself she was glad of it. 

But that night, she dreamed of ropes. 


End file.
